


Love Letter to Impressionism

by lalasagna



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, Established Relationship, Grantaire Has Issues, Implied Sexual Content, JMB are the bestest friends to R, M/M, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, art major!grantaire, but is in therapy and on medication! we love a recovering boi, but only like two sentences, gratuitous art commentary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 15:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21056432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalasagna/pseuds/lalasagna
Summary: Enjolras grabs his arm. “I don’t under—Is it really so upsetting that I don’t know Picasso? Come on, I don’t know why you’re upset,”Grantaire breathes out a laugh, but it’s a sad laugh, a self-deprecating one. “Ignorantia iuris nocet. You know why I know that? Because I’m dating a law student.”In which Grantaire knows a lot of law, but Enjolras knows barely anything about art, and Grantaire gets understandably upset.





	Love Letter to Impressionism

**Author's Note:**

> i hope my art history prof is proud of me

"I think this paragraph could be summarized into one sentence. Also, this bit about the gardener could be deemed hearsay, so consider removing that section altogether." Grantaire says, flipping through the pages. "Other than that, I think it's good to go."

Enjolras sighs in relief, writing down the comments. "Alright. Thank you. Sorry for taking up your time. I know you have that presentation on impressionism on Tuesday."

Enjolras is already wearing his collared shirt, ready to go at any moment. Grantaire is still wearing his boxers and a faded hoodie. The latter would point out how this would be a great scene for his _ Juxtaposition _ assignment, but he realizes something else.

There's a look on Grantaire's face as he corrects him, "_ Post _-impressionism. They're very different."

"Uh, okay. I guess I don't know much about art." Enjolras is patting down his flyaways.

"I guess so. " Grantaire says in a strange voice. 

Before Enjolras could pursue this sudden tension, his phone goes off. "Oh! I have to go to the meeting about the—"

"Deposition on that Mock Trial, I know. " 

"Yeah, exactly." Enjolras says as he hurriedly shoves things in his messenger bag. "Thanks for your help. I'll be in late, but I’ll bring home dinner. Love you. "

With a kiss goodbye, he's gone. 

Grantaire goes to finish his presentation on _ post _-impressionism, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in his chest.

* * *

"Hey Courfeyrac," Grantaire says one day before a Les Amis meeting. "How well-versed would you say you are in medicine since you started dating Combeferre?"

Courfeyrac sips from his fruity drink and says, "Well, I know that heart attacks manifest differently on women than in men. And I know that the HIPPA isn't a female hippo. Oh! And that a CAT scan isn't really for cats."

"On a range of normal dumb human to post-doctorate, where would your knowledge be? "

He ponders on this for a moment. "I'd sayy... second year pre-med at least. Why?"

Second year art student would _ definitely _know the difference between impressionism and post-impressionism.

Grantaire makes sure Enjolras is out of hearing range. Said blonde leader appears to be intently listening to Joly's suggestions for more inclusive accessibility on campus and would not hear this conversation, Grantaire concludes. 

"Soooo... would you say that learning these things about HIPPA and heart attacks has helped you become closer? And that it makes your relationship better?"

Courfeyrac narrows his eyes. "Uh, I guess? I mean, I mostly learn about these things when he comes home from a long shift and just wants to rant about his day. Sometimes, I look things up when I don't know what they mean and he gets really excited when I tell him what I learned. Like, one time, he was having trouble explaining antibiotic intolerance to me, so I googled it when he was in the shower and...you should have seen the look on his face when I told him. He's such a nerd. I love that man. Wait, what's this about?"

"Cool, very cool." Grantaire takes a long swig from his beer. "Just for a research paper on relationships and transferable knowledge for my anthropology class."

"Anthropology? But you're a fine arts student!" Courfeyrac says, but Grantaire has already abandoned him in favor of joining Eponine at the bar.

* * *

"Hey, I'm attending a lecture on Cubism Analysis tomorrow. You wanna come with? It's open to the public." Grantaire says to the blonde in his arms. 

They were enjoying their usual post-sex cuddling when he brings this up. Enjolras is already half asleep, but he blinks a few times to get some clarity in his mind. 

"Cubism? Whazzat?" He mumbles into Grantaire's neck where he's buried his face in. 

He feels Grantaire tense. Usually, Grantaire is satisfied with lying down and stroking his hair, but Enjolras isn’t dumb. He knows that Grantaire had been in A Mood lately, but he can’t really zero in on why. Grantaire doesn't like to talk about his feelings. He knows that It took him two months of casual talk before he finally opened up to his therapist. 

Enjolras dislodges himself from his spot on his boyfriend’s neck to look up at him.

"Uh, Picasso's art movement. You know Pablo Picasso? The most influential artist in history?"

"...I guess I've heard of him." 

Suddenly, Grantaire pulls away. "_ Heard _ of him? You're dating an art major! I mention Picasso almost daily. Fuck's sake, I even had an exhibit solely dedicated to Picasso's style! You… you told me you really liked it!"

Enjolras is confused at how the situation turned sour so quickly. "I did! I always like your art! I'm just not...I just don't know much about art. I don't understand why you're upset!"

"You don’t understand?" Grantaire says, incredulous. 

He sits up and starts putting on his clothes. 

“No, I don’t, R! What’s happening, where are you going?” Enjolras sounds like he’s about to cry and it almost makes Grantaire want to scoop him back up and hold him close.

Almost.

“I need to go. I can’t—” Grantaire runs his hand through his hair. 

Enjolras grabs his arm. “I don’t under—Is it really so upsetting that I don’t know Picasso? Come on, I don’t know why you’re upset,”

Grantaire breathes out a laugh, but it’s a sad laugh, a self-deprecating one. “_ Ignorantia iuris nocet. _ You know why I know that? Because _ I’m _ dating a law student.”

* * *

Grantaire’s thumb hovers over the **Send** button and he notices that his hand is shaking slightly.

_ Sry, I overreacted. _

He thinks back to when his therapist told him that all feelings were valid and no one’s feelings mattered more than anyone else’s. All feelings were equal. He has gone a long way from worshipping the idea of Enjolras, but sometimes he still feels like the lesser person in their relationship. 

He presses backspace and calls Musichetta instead. 

“R, hel—_ Guys shut up! I’m on the phone! _” Hearing her sweet voice berating her undoubtedly silly boyfriends already makes him feel a smidge better. “Sorry, Bossuet broke a picture frame and Joly is freaking out. What’s up, sweetie?”

“Hey, Chetta. I, uh...Is it alright if I come over?”

“Yeah, sure! I gotta leave for my shift, so I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you with _ these two, _ ” there’s an indignant _ “hey I heard that!” _in the background. “But our old roommate is always welcome!”

When he arrives, Bossuet and Joly seems to have made up as the three of them are snuggling on the couch, Bossuet’s hand sporting a few Powerpuff Girl bandages. Musichetta gets up and hugs Grantaire.

“Your babysitter’s here!” She announces, putting on her scarf. “Be good now or no TV after curfew!”

“Mommy kink, that’s new.” Grantaire teases.

Joly says, “Gross” the same time Bossuet says, “Into it,” and they both laugh. Grantaire would grin if he wasn't so afraid of it turning into a sob. 

Musichetta smiles. “I’m sorry I can’t stay. You okay?”

Grantaire grimaces. “Meh. But don’t feel bad, I’ll be okay. Eventually.”

She hugs him again before bidding her goodbyes and Grantaire plops down on the large couch, hugging his legs to his chest. Joly and Bossuet adjust around him so they’re all making up a strange yet familiar three person cuddle pile. When the four of them were roommates and Bossuet was still in law school, they would cuddle like this all the time. 

“Not that we don’t relish in your presence, our dear R, but...well.” Joly says, then hesitates.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bossuet finishes for him, seamlessly.

It’s a little terrifying sometimes how they do that.

“Enjolras—” He starts and then stops, trying to organize his thoughts into words. “We...are very different people.”

Joly and Bossuet share a Look, as if he can’t see them.

He sighs, then continues, “I don’t know. It sounds dumb when I put it into words…”

“R, you’re talking to the man who once thought chocolate milk came from brown cows,” Bossuet says. “I’m really in no position to judge.”

“And I once thought I could do a headstand because I hypothesized that if my legs barely move, that unused strength would go to my arms.” Joly says. "We're your friends and we are not going to judge you."

Grantaire smiles. “Thank you. Well. I guess, the summary is that Enjolras...doesn’t bother to learn about art and shit I like while I know lots of random law facts because I like listening to him talk about what he enjoys...I feel like he doesn’t care enough to, y’know. Care about what _ I _enjoy. Sometimes, it feels like he doesn’t give a shit at all.”

“That sucks.” Bossuet says.

“...yeah. But I still...I love him. And he tells me he loves me, but…” Grantaire feels his eyes become wet. “I’m not asking him to get a post-doctorate on Cubism or whatever, but it would be nice to know that he listens to me talk about the things I like. I—”

Joly rubs his hand up and down his back, a thing he told them he found reassuring long ago. “Hey, you can cry. No shame in it.”

He feels the tears fall, after hours of holding it in. “I—I care about him so much, you know? And I’m scared that he...I have these thoughts in my mind that he is just tolerating me or pretending to like me...And most times, I know techniques to help me deal with this… like, from my therapist. Most times, I can reason with these thoughts, but it’s hard when he makes me feel like I’m not important enough to pay attention to. You know, the first time he slept over at mine, I panicked when I woke up because he was gone.

“I thought he had regretted it, that he left because he couldn’t bear to be with me. But he was in the kitchen, calm as anything, reading a newspaper. He didn’t even consider that...I don’t know, that I’m a dumb insecure coward that needs a lot of reassurance.”

“Oh, R.” Joly says. “You’re not a coward. It’s perfectly reasonable to want to be reassured by a loved one.”

Bossuet says, “Yeah. Like, I know that Joly and Chetta love me, but sometimes, I just wanna hear it, y’know? Just to be sure. That’s not crazy _ or _ cowardly.”

He lets the two stroke his hair and talk about mundane things like where Joly’s reading glasses are and how Bossuet needs to restrain his gesturing near glass objects. He feels cared for, but not coddled. 

“I love you guys.” Grantaire says sincerely. “You guys in the mood to make fun of a bad movie to avoid talking about our feelings?”

“Only if you agree to talk to Enj after, yeah? Doesn’t have to be face-to-face, you don’t have to be there, you can just call him. Okay?”

Grantaire groans, but he knows it’s not really a suggestion. “Okay, fine. But for now, Troll 2, please.”

* * *

Enjolras doesn’t answer. 

Grantaire gives up the third time it goes to voicemail and gets himself some convenience store ice cream, fighting the urge to drink. Then he tries to tidy his room, but everything reminds him of Enjolras, so he just drinks his medicine and collapses in bed.

His phone must ding at some point but he only gets to check when he wakes up at 9 AM. There’s a text from Enjolras, sent at 1 in the morning:

_ I’m sorry, R. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I love you. _

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” He mutters to himself, contemplating sending a single _ ? _back, just to see what happens, but decides against it.

His phone rings as he’s exiting the shower and his heart flips a little, unsure if he can talk to Enjolras right now. He was ready yesterday but after a full sleep cycle, everything he wanted to say now sounds strange. Thankfully, it’s Jehan.

“Hey, R! You’re still going to the _ Exploration on Cubism _ talk, right?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you—” He doesn’t recall telling them about it, but he’s cut off from questioning this further.

“Yay, I’m coming also. Thought it would help me in this piece I’m writing, try new things and all that. Well, I’ll see you there!”

“Wha…” He is cut off by the dial tone.

A few hours later, he’s listening to Jehan prattle about some new rhythm he’s trying when he swears he sees a familiar head of blonde hair pass by them. He turns to look, but Jehan grabs his arm.

“Grantaire! Are you listening?” They say and if Grantaire was paying enough attention, he would hear the panic in their voice. “As I was saying, dactyls can really speed up a line like _ da _-da-da…”

When they take their seats inside, Jehan has somehow switched to talking about their fashion woes. “It was like one of those modern kimono-type things and it had this really striking pattern that went _ woosh _ and _ uwo! _ And you might think, ‘Jehan would you really spend 73 Euros on a jacket?’ and I would say ‘Yes!’ but—”

“Only if it had pockets, right?”

“Exactly!” Jehan says, “But it didn’t. So, that was a bust.”

“Good morning, all.” A voice comes through the speakers and they direct their attention to the front. “I hope you are having a good—”

A loud shout is heard near the front. From where he is seated, Grantaire can only see some figures gesturing expressively at the speaker. Then, someone jumps on stage and takes the microphone.

“Terribly sorry for the inconvenience—no! Wait, give me a second...a few minutes that’s all.” 

There’s no mistaking that voice or that bright blonde hair or that fearless expression. 

It seems that Enjolras has usurped the speaker in _ Exploration on Cubism _, the very talk he didn’t even want to attend, and taken the stage. If Grantaire isn’t mad at him, he would be laughing.

As it is, he stares at Enjolras and notices what must be Courfeyrac and Combeferre blocking the way to the stage. This is ridiculous.

“This is ridiculous,” Grantaire mutters to himself.

Jehan snorts beside him. “No, just watch. This is worth it.”

Thoughts about Jehan, his dear friend, conspiring with his boyfriend to get him to an event that he plans to take over leaves his mind as said boyfriend’s eyes find his. The crowd disappears suddenly, and Grantaire can see nothing but Enjolras on the stage, holding the microphone and looking determined.

Yet upon closer inspection, Grantaire can see the bags under his eyes and remembers the 1 AM text. Did he even sleep? Grantaire can see the way both his hands clasp on the microphone, as if he was afraid that one wouldn’t be able to hold it up. Grantaire can see him take a shallow breath, before speaking clearly.

“I am here today, in front of you because I messed up. No, I was messing up, continuously. And so, I will be explaining the differences between impressionism and post-impressionism, both significant art periods, but each with their own characteristics that the other does not possess. I was a fool to think otherwise, especially because Edgar Degas is the favorite artist of a very important person to me.”

Grantaire holds his breath, not knowing what to say. Not that it matters, since Enjolras can’t really hear him from where he is. He barely talks about his love for Degas, usually reserving it for the classroom. Did he ask Eponine? Enjolras asking help from Eponine seems so far fetched, yet how else would he know?

“As far as I know, impressionism got its name from the critic Louis Leroy who saw Claude Monet’s painting and intended to insult him and his fellow artists in the exhibition by stating that the paintings were like mere impressions. Impressionism is typically characterized by big brushstrokes of bright colors without paying much attention to detail. They especially look at how the light falls and the way the weather affects the subject.

"Monet would set up and paint the Rouen Cathedral at different points of the day, emphasizing the way the light appears on the facade. Degas, though he vehemently denied being an Impressionist, has several paintings of ballet dancers in action. Women painters were rare and belittled during that time, but Berthe Morissot, Mary Cassat, and Marie Bracquemond among others fought against this stigma, sharing their impressionist paintings in the male-dominated field."

To say he is impressed is an understatement. This goes above and beyond what Grantaire wanted from him, but then again, Enjolras was never one to do things half-way. Jehan nods along, taking notes on a little notebook.

“Meanwhile, post-impressionists came after the impressionists, as evidenced by its name. Although post-impressionist works have similarities like using distortions, the post-impressionist movement is not a unified one, with styles ranging from Paul Cezanne’s flat depthless landscapes to Vincent Van Gogh’s short wavy brushstrokes to George Seurat’s countless dots. Unlike impressionists, post-impressionists do not emphasize painting in quick sessions, but—wait, I’m almost done—”

The speaker, accompanied by two security guards, has returned and takes away the mic from Enjolras. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are nowhere to be seen, probably escorted out. A murmur goes through the crowd as the blonde is dragged out of the room.

Grantaire stands up. “Uh, Jehan—”

“Go,” Jehan says, taking his hand and squeezing it. “He’ll be waiting for you.”

He goes.

Enjolras is being berated by one of the guards, looking embarrassed, but his face brightens when he sees Grantaire. Both of them begin talking at the same time.

“I’msorryIrealizedIhadbeen—”

“You weren’t answering my calls—”

“Eponine was shouting at me and wouldn’t let me—”

“You went to Eponine? What kind of—”

The security guard throws her hands up, quickly realizing that no one is listening to her. “Why do I even try?”

She walks away and Enjolras falls silent.

“This doesn’t—I mean, I appreciate this civil disruption, but you need to understand that…” Grantaire says, “One big statement can’t fix our problems. Hell, fifty big statements can’t fix our problems.”

Enjolras reaches out, taking his hands in his. “I know. I just...I wanted to make a statement so it could lead the way to a systematic change. And I _ do _ have a plan, it’s step-by-step, and I’ve _ taken _ steps—I have a list—”

Grantaire kisses him.

“Does this—Am I forgiven?” Enjolras looks vulnerable, the kind that he shows only to his closest confidants.

“After you answer this: Who is your favorite Impressionist?”

Enjolras grins, like he expected the question. “Marie Bracquemond. She was one of the few female painters in that era and she _ saw _ the way the teachers taught them differently. She was brave and would probably be as well-known as Renoir if her asshole husband didn’t prevent her from her work.”

Grantaire sighs, but his face is fond. “Of course it would be Bracquemond.”

Enjolras smiles. “Of course _ yours _ would be Degas. He even hated being called an Impressionist, yet he paints in the same style.”

“This.” Grantaire says, making circles with his thumb on Enjolras’ palm. “This was why I wanted you to know...I wanted moments like this.”

Enjolras presses his lips to the back of his palm. “I love you. I don’t want to lose you because I’m being insensitive and not listening. You deserve the best and you deserve a partner who pays attention and cares about what you care about. I guess I needed Eponine to shout at me before I realized that. I’m sorry.”

Grantaire feels warm. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me. You deserve only the best." Enjolras kisses him on the cheek. 

"That's gay," He can't help but reply, feeling the tension fade.

Enjolras laughs. "You're insufferable."

"So… " Grantaire says, "I really was supposed to go to that talk, but I don't think I can even go back inside now that I’ve been seen with you. But. There is another talk my prof gave as an alternate option but it's on—"

"Yes," Enjolras says, squeezing his hand. "Just tell me when. I'll reschedule my whole day if needed."

Grantaire couldn't help kissing him again. 

They both know that the problem isn’t fully resolved and that there will be more problems in the future, but after today, Grantaire thinks that they might just make it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, it really makes me happy to receive kudos and comments!
> 
> Any questions? Ask me [ here ](https://curiouscat.me/lalasagna)
> 
> Some trivia: 
> 
> At first, Enjolras was supposed to actually be part of the program, but then that makes no fucking sense and he really would be the kind of person to disrupt a program for his own life
> 
> [Troll 2](https://youtu.be/CkNB0w1fYKk) exists. Here’s an [analysis vide](https://youtu.be/aZOZYpyZOqE)o I enjoyed. It has a 6% on Rotten Tomatoes, oof!
> 
> I am taking an arts degree currently and I greatly enjoyed the art history/context in this. And Yes, if it wasn’t obvious, I love Impressionism a lot lot lot. Here are some references:
> 
> [Claude Monet’s Rouen Cathedrals ](https://drawpaintacademy.com/claude-monet-rouen-cathedral/)
> 
> Not sure about the reliability, but I found [this](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Exhibition_of_the_Impressionists) on Leroy’s critique of Impressionists.
> 
> [Women Artists](https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/19wa/hd_19wa.htm) in the 19th Century
> 
> Like Enjolras, I am a Marie Bracquemond stan and [this article ](https://www.artandobject.com/articles/most-important-impressionist-youve-never-heard)has my favorite work of hers as the heading (Under the Lamp)


End file.
